


Like Kryptonite

by SwiftEmera



Series: Olivarry Week 2016 [2]
Category: Arrow (TV 2012), The Flash (TV 2014)
Genre: M/M, Olivarry Week 2016, PWP, Smut, villains au
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-09
Updated: 2016-06-09
Packaged: 2018-07-14 01:01:02
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 869
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7145666
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SwiftEmera/pseuds/SwiftEmera
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Oliver likes to pretend that he doesn’t have a weakness, so he’s loathe to admit that his own personal kryptonite comes in the form of long limbs, captivating green eyes and chestnut hair. Barry Allen is going to be the death of him, he’s sure.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Like Kryptonite

**Author's Note:**

> Written for Olivarry Week 2016 - Villains AU. But tbh, it's mostly an excuse to smut.

Oliver likes to pretend that he doesn’t have a weakness.

As far as anyone else knows, he doesn’t. The Arrow is cold to everyone; vicious, a sociopath – a _killer_. It’s an image he’s been working on for years. One that he’s carefully constructed and maintained for a long time. Enemy of the city, friend to no one.

So he’s loathe to admit that his own personal kryptonite comes in the form of long limbs, captivating green eyes and chestnut hair that Oliver just wants to drag his fingers through every time he sees it.

“I can practically hear you thinking too hard.”

The voice jolts him out of his thoughts, and he glances down to where his weakness currently resides, pressing hot, open-mouthed kisses into his bare skin, trailing from his neck and down to his chest, until he finally feels his hot breath ghost against his cock, and, _fuck_. Oliver’s back arches on the mattress, fingers digging into the sheets.

They’ve been doing this for a few months now, and Oliver in equal parts considers it both a blessing and a curse that he ever had the fortune (or misfortune, as it may be) to meet Barry Allen – or as known to most, the Crimson Speedster of Central City.

It hadn’t taken them long to become what they are. While they are polar opposites as far as attitudes go (Oliver more stoic and serious, Barry more like a playful puppy than anything else), they _get_ each other. They might be hated for what they do – providing justice to the city like the SCPD or the CCPD could not, unafraid to end the lives of the scumbags crawling through the streets without a second thought – but at least they have each other.

Breath hitching as he feels Barry’s tongue trails a wet path up his shaft, and bucking a little as it teases his slit, Oliver’s eyes flutter shut with a filthy groan, and he can’t help but slide his hand into Barry’s hair as the other wraps his lips around his tip and sinks them down on his flushed dick slowly, teasingly, holding his hips in place.

“Ngh, Barry- _shit_ -“

Barry spends a good amount of time with his lips around his dick, his hand cradling his balls, bringing Oliver to the very brink before coming of his dick with a wet _pop_. Oliver’s breath shudders in his throat, a pathetic whimper escaping him, causing Barry, the little shit, to smirk, ever the satisfied cock tease.

“How much would you hate me if I just sped away right now?”

“I will put an arrow through you,” Oliver assures him, voice like gravel. It earns him a breathless chuckle from Barry as he crawls over him, and Oliver props himself up on his elbows to drink in the sight of Barry straddling him. His chest is flushed, his hair askew from where Oliver’s hand had been grabbing on, and his pupils are blown wide.

“Luckily for you, I want to ride you,” he teases with a cheeky grin.  

“Don’t let me stop you,” Oliver replies, head rolling back onto the mattress once more.

The best thing about their arrangement is that patience is never an issue. With the right motivation, Barry can have himself prepped and lubed in seconds, and Oliver barely feels the condom being rolled over his dick before Barry’s sinking down on him, tight, hot heat engulfing his cock and sending his adrenaline soaring.

There’s not much thinking after that. It’s raw – primal. Hands exploring skin and dragging tingles all over the place, Barry moving in unison with Oliver’s thrusts, the room filled with their grunts and groans and gasps, the creaking of the bedframe and slapping skin.

He doesn’t hold back with Barry – never does. The speedster can take it. He heals fast, as Barry’s never done telling him. Not that Oliver would intentionally harm him – but it does mean that he gets to be a little rougher than he would with anyone else.

It’s not before long that Barry’s stilling above him, and Oliver’s own muscles draw tight. The rhythm less calculated than before, their moans turning a little more breathless, and Oliver digs his fingers into the dip of Barry’s spine as he comes with a groan, the speedster not far behind him, leaking over his fist wrapped around his own cock.

It’s then that Barry groans, coming down to rest his face against Oliver’s chest, too tired to roll off him quite yet, and Oliver’s too fucked out to even care about the oversensitivity right now. All that can be heard is their ragged breath as they both attempt to recover, and finally, with a hiss, Barry’s extracting himself and flopping down on the mattress next to him.

In this life, they can’t afford attachments. They both know this – they’ve had this conversation. Multiple times. At any moment, one of them could get arrested – or worse, _killed_. Neither of them would even entertain the idea of attempting an actual _relationship_ in their fucked up world.  

Nevertheless, all he knows is that Barry Allen is going to be the death of him.

Sometimes, he thinks that may not be such a bad thing.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! You can find me [here](http://smittenvigilantes.tumblr.com/) on tumblr.


End file.
